“Just so. They came to see what was up and what could be done, found that nothin’ partiklar was up an’ nothin’ at all could be done, so off they go, mounted, to fish in other waters. Just as well for us.”
“But not so well for the fish in the other waters,” remarked Charlie.
“True, but we can’t help that. Come, we may as well return now.”
While Charlie and the scout were thus following the trail, Buck Tom, lying in the cave, became suddenly much worse. It seemed as if some string in his system had suddenly snapped and let the poor human wreck run down.
“Come here, Leather,” he gasped faintly.
Poor Shank, who never left him, and who was preparing food for him at the time, was at his side in a moment, and bent anxiously over him.
“D’you want anything?” he asked.
“Nothing, Shank. Where’s Dick?”
“Outside; cutting some firewood.”
“Don’t call him. I’m glad we are alone,” said the outlaw, seizing his friend’s hand with a feeble, tremulous grasp. “I’m dying, Shank, dear boy. You forgive me?”